


The Secret to Humor is Surprise

by rosewiththorns



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Detroit Red Wings, Discipline, Gen, Humor, Kneeling, Kneeling Universe, M/M, Mischief, Non-Sexual Submission, Promises, Shoe-Check, joke, mentoring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 14:14:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5337095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosewiththorns/pseuds/rosewiththorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pavel's attempts to be funny in any language don't always work as well as he hoped.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Secret to Humor is Surprise

“The secret to humor is surprise.”—Aristotle

The Secret to Humor is Surprise

“What were you thinking?” Steve stared down at Pavel, who was kneeling before him, head bowed like a petal in a harsh wind. They were in Steve’s hotel room, Steve on the overstuffed bed, and Pavel on a satin pillow on the floor. Since Igor was not on this road trip, Steve had taken on the responsibility of having Pavel kneel for him, and it was turning out to be more difficult than Steve had expected. While Pavel seemed so shy and sensitive, there was a steely stubbornness and sly humor lurking under the guileless surface, and it was a delicate balancing act to be stern enough to provide discipline but not so severe as to shatter Pavel’s tentative self-esteem. 

“I not thinking nothing.” Pavel’s head ducked even lower, so that his chin was barely a centimeter from his neck, but Steve wasn’t tricked, because he knew that Pavel was a smart person who played dumb incredibly well, whether to have a laugh at other people’s expense or his own, Steve wasn’t quite sure which. 

“So you were thinking something.” Although Steve wasn’t an expert in the Russian language, he was aware that double negatives in Russian indicated emphasis and did not equal a positive, but he figured that he could follow Pavel’s lead and play dumb when it suited him. Tilting Pavel’s chin up so that Pavel’s butterscotch eyes were fixed on his, he ordered, “Tell me, Pav.” 

“Just making joke.” Pavel’s chin quivered in between Steve’s fingers. “You too serious. Want make you smile.” 

“I was serious because we lost a game we should’ve won. That’s not a time for smiles.” Steve’s forehead furrowed into a frown that mimicked the one creasing his lips. Often he had heard the remark that humor was the first trait to perish in a foreign language, but Pavel tried to stickhandle around that with little practical jokes—deliberately cutting in front of you in the locker room and then slowing down to a snail’s pace, or sneaking behind you, tapping your shoulder, and then fading away again as you looked for him—done with such a goofy grin that it was almost impossible to take offense. Shoe-checking Steve with Dijon mustard at dinner was going too far, especially after a loss, though. “I can’t believe you shoe-checked me.” 

“That why meant be funny,” explained Pavel, eyes expanding earnestly as a Golden Retriever’s. “Humor is surprise, Stevie.” 

“No, Pav,” Steve corrected, giving Pavel’s shoulders a firm shake. “Humor is about timing and target. Both your timing and target were wrong, so what you did wasn’t funny, even if you meant for it to be.” 

“Sorry.” Pavel tucked his lower lip beneath his teeth. “Not trying be bad, Captain.” 

“I know.” Steve stroked at the tender skin under Pavel’s chin until his teeth relaxed, releasing his lip from captivity. Observing inwardly that Pavel was mischievous but never bad, Steve went on, “You never try to be bad, just to create mischief, but creating mischief isn’t always a good thing even if you want it to be.” 

“Stevie mad?” Pavel’s words were half a question and half a plea for him not to be. 

“Not mad.” Steve shook his head but continued to fix an unrelenting gaze on Pavel. “Just not happy with your decision, Pav.” 

“Sorry,” repeated Pavel, nudging his cheek against Steve’s knee. “I not shoe-check you again. Promise.” 

“Keep your word, and we’ll be good.” Steve patted Pavel’s upturned cheek, but Pavel did not appear as comforted by this affectionate gesture as Steve had expected him to be. 

“Can I ask you question, Stevie?” Pavel’s head was cocked quizzically like a puppy that had just been scolded by his master for chewing tennis shoes. 

“I couldn’t stop you since you just did so.” Steve tapped Pavel’s nose. “Ask as many questions as you want, though, kid.” 

“Do you—“ Pavel’s fingers fretted with the pillow as he experienced one of his periodic struggles to express in English—“think less of me because of what I did?” 

“Of course not.” Steve squeezed the nape of Pavel’s neck. “One mistake or bad decision isn’t going to change what I think of you. I know that you’re a good person with a strong work ethic and a lot more talent than you give yourself credit for—exactly the kind of player I want on this team. As your captain, I just want to help you reach your full potential not only for your own benefit, but for the entire team’s sake. Understand?” 

“Yes.” Burrowed into Steve’s leg, Pavel’s head jerked in a nod. Silence fell between them for a minute as Steve combed Pavel’s hair, and then Pavel murmured, “You my captain.” 

“Always,” agreed Steve, the words part vow and part reassurance. “No matter what you do, Pav.”


End file.
